The Definition of Partnership
by DrKCooper
Summary: Set between scenes in "Whatever Remains, However Improbable" (6x21). Takes place before London. Spoilers, obviously. Note rating.


_Disclaimer: All recognizable _Elementary_ characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including, but not limited to CBS. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fan fiction story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No financial gain is associated with the publishing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended._

Author's Note: Like my previous piece, this isn't a post-ep for "Whatever Remains, However Improbable" (6x21). This piece will take place before Sherlock and Joan depart for London. Comments/reviews always welcome. –dkc

**The Definition of Partnership**

"_We're supposed to be partners!"_ he had shouted at her. His fury at her wanting to go to the authorities had made him angrier than she had seen him in some time.

Whether it was his frustration or her fear, she found herself firmly retorting: _"We are…so be my partner!"_

She lay in bed playing this scene over and over in her head. He wanted to protect her as much as she wanted to protect him, both willing to sacrifice their future for the future of the other. She felt guilty and ashamed of her actions. She was angry and disappointed in herself. Would she be the downfall of their partnership?

There it was again. That word. Partner. What did it mean?

"_We're two people who love each other. We always have been."_

She turned over and growled into her pillow. Why could nothing between them be simple? Why was he such a complicated man? She had gone from his sober companion to his student to his partner and somewhere along the way his friend. Somewhere along the way she became something more. What was she now? What were they to each other?

When he proposed their partnership, she had balked at the idea. She was no longer a surgeon. She would no longer be a sober companion. She would be in a business partnership with the incomparable Sherlock Holmes. It terrified her. She had never done anything like this. This was hardly what she planned for her life all those years ago in medical school. Of course, she would first be his student and, in hindsight, the lesser in skill. However, she no longer felt inferior. This had taken years to construct.

But the word they had thrown at each other that day held weight, a weight that a business partnership alone did not. Did he see it as she did? What had she meant when she demanded he be her partner?

They weren't romantic partners, yet they had a comfortable relationship that felt more than platonic. Having lived together for as long as they had, they knew each other's likes and dislikes, their routines and when the other needed space. This road they had been on together for years had developed into the most reliable relationship she had ever had. She could rely on him and he on her. She knew he would fight for her and they would fight his demons together. He had recently shown her what he was willing to do for the sake of her becoming a mother. The thought of her child growing up around him made her smile. How would Sherlock be with a baby? How would her child come to look at him? Partnership meant sacrifice and she knew he would sacrifice everything for her. Hell, she knew she would sacrifice the chance at motherhood and even her freedom if it meant preventing he, Marcus and the captain from taking the fall for her actions.

Their partnership wasn't without its hiccups. His relapse, her sleeping with Mycroft, her kidnapping and then Mycroft's disappearance—all had caused their partnership to crack, their hearts pain.

Her phone buzzed. She considered ignoring it before deciding the distraction it provided is exactly what she needed. It was too much to ask that it be a case. They may have worked on their final case. She hit the home button, noting that it was a few minutes past midnight, entered her passcode and found a message from Sherlock. She thought he had gone to bed and the lack of noise in the brownstone had convinced her of such. Opening the message she found a picture of Clyde next to a mug, a string with a tea label hanging over the side.

Obviously, if Sherlock was making tea he was having trouble sleeping. They both had a great deal on their minds. She wondered if he was preoccupied with any attempt to define what their partnership was. She certainly was.

She threw back the blankets and sat up in her bed. Rubbing at her eyes, Joan could feel the exhaustion she was carrying in her body. Wrapping a silk robe around her body, she insured it was tied tightly. He had seen her in her sleep attire before. However, she was in a skimpy tank top and shorts with nothing underneath and didn't want that to be obvious when he looked at her. She was far more modest than he was when it came to walking through common areas of their home.

"Clyde would prefer lettuce over tea," she spoke softly from the kitchen doorway where she leaned against the frame.

Her eyes were taking him in as he sat shirtless at the table with a mug in his hands.

"I suppose that is the case. I offered him a strawberry. He seems rather annoyed by my bothering him at this hour."

"Or he doesn't appreciate being on the table," she walked toward him, touching his shoulder as she made her way to the kettle. Why she had touched him like this she didn't know. It was certainly not out of habit. "I hope you plan on washing it when the two of you are done doing whatever it is you're doing."

She sat down at the table next to him, sipping at the hot tea while looking at Sherlock over the lip of her mug.

"Trouble sleeping?" she said.

"I keep thinking about the captain."

Her eyes hadn't left his. Perhaps it was wisest to keep her eyes on him to prevent her eyes from roaming his muscular chest and the maze of ink that spoke to who he was and where he had been in his life.

"He will forgive you in time."

"His daughter is…" he paused unable to speak the details of the situation.

"We found ourselves in an impossible situation. He will recognize that. It will take time."

Sherlock's eyes were unfocused, his mind somewhere else in that moment. She reached out and touched his knee. Whatever comfort she could offer him would have to be enough. She was closer to him than anyone else in her life; he likely would say the same about her. If he needed that comfort, the only person he might accept it from was Joan. Her mind again was lost in the questions she had been contemplating with regard to their partnership.

"Watson?" his hand rested on hers, preventing it from pulling back.

Her eyes again found his and she saw something there that she didn't recognize. It wasn't his usual concern or the respect he often looked on with. It was something deeper. What he was asking she wasn't sure.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked with a hesitation in her voice.

"We go together." It was a powerful statement.

"Sherlock…" she was hoping for a concrete idea, though she had no idea what that might be.

He turned in his chair, squaring his shoulders while continuing to keep his hand atop hers.

"Perhaps a change of scenery is what we need," he stated without further explanation.

"I will not run." She was firm.

He stared into her dark eyes and considered their few options.

"London."

"London?" she questioned.

"We could continue our work. You could adopt. Of course, you would have to go through the entire process again, but I will support you. Scotland Yard has asked repeatedly for my return to my work there. You could join me. I could insist on our partnership continuing when I approach them. I have a home there. We could…" he paused. "Our cohabitation wouldn't change. I could help you with your child. I know nothing about children, but I could learn."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she let what he was offering carry through her mind and soul.

"Whatever you need."

His words were said with gentility she had only experienced with him a half dozen times. He reached up to wipe away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. He began to pull his hand back when hers covered it, holding it to her cheek.

However powerful his words were; however they felt as they touched her heart, this wasn't a moment of epiphany or anything similar. This was what they were to one another. This had long been who they were to one another. The only change in that moment was the frank way they were speaking to one another about their future. They had often avoided communicating their feelings, hopes and thoughts. Sherlock didn't believe in speaking of his feelings. And they didn't touch like this.

"I need you."

It was the truth. She felt it. cIt was what they both consciously knew and had for years now.

"Come with me to London?" he spoke softly, his voice fighting off emotions and the cracking of tears.

His eyes bore into hers. He was an intense human being even in the way they spoke on a daily, hourly basis. She looked at his lips; he watched her do so.

"Watson?" he whispered.

She hadn't spoken a word since she told him she needed him. Instead she leaned forward, hands remaining on her face, and she kissed him. It was tender, unexpected and yet totally expected. It had been expected for years. She pulled back from having pressed her lips against his only to find his hand wrapping around the back of her neck to pull her back to his lips.

When they parted, breathless, her eyes were large and dark. His jaw had set and his free hand gripped the edge of the table for some semblance of control. He could not sustain eye contact.

"Please look at me," emotion had crept into her quiet voice.

When he looked up, the fire in her eyes astonished him. It was startling and intriguing, however confusing.

"Put Clyde away."

His entire body exhaled. He stood up, lifting Clyde from where he'd sprinted on the other side of the table, carrying him to his terrarium in the other room. He was disappointed. What he had heard and what she had implied were at odds.

Standing from placing Clyde in his home, he turned to find Joan directly in front of him. The fire remained in her eyes. Her request suddenly dawned on him. Stepping forward she met his body, pressing against his hard chest as her hands wrapped around his neck. He met her lips. He bent down so she wouldn't have to stand on her tiptoes.

He felt his body relaxing, his shoulders dropping from their perpetual position at attention. When his tongue swiped under hers he felt more than heard a guttural sound vibrate against his lips. A very noticeable appendage hardened in response.

Joan's hesitation was evident in the kiss. She didn't pull back, but he felt the change in her breathing.

"We don't have to…" he whispered when their lips parted slightly.

"If you tell me we don't have to or that we can stop this now, I will murder you in your sleep with a toothpick and a balloon."

His eyes actually smiled. Sherlock Holmes could smile.

His hands slipped down beneath her cheeks, his head against her sternum before he lifted her with ease. Her legs wrapped around his waist. She was so small without the heels and platforms she often wore.

Shrugging out of her satin robe as not to tangle them in it, she resumed kissing him with ferocity. She found herself pressed against the plaster wall, his taut body pressed against her, her nipples tightening and a heaviness developing low in her belly. She lowered her body to face him head on rather than kinking her neck to reach his lips. They both moaned as her barely covered breasts slid against his chest and her slightly parted cheeks sat down on his erection.

"Mmm…Sherlock," she hummed part question, part demand. "I don't want to do this against the kitchen wall."

He carried her toward the French doors on the other side of the kitchen, continuing to rove her mouth with his tongue as he bumped them against multiple points on their way into his bedroom. When he felt his knees against the edge of his unmade bed he carefully lowered her. As she sat, his body continued down until he was kneeling before her. He reached the bottom hem of her tank top, lifting it slowly over her head. While he could see her pert nipples through the cotton, his breath still caught at the sight of her naked bust and now messed up hair from the action.

She looked at him with complete acceptance and desire.

Her legs were parted to allow him as close as possible. He leaned forward to begin a trail of kisses from the side of her neck down the path between her perfect breasts. She held his head in place when his mouth made a return path up her chest and came to the flat space between her delicate and wanting tits. His mouth didn't bother circling the rigid peaks; his mouth went directly to that which he fancied.

She whimpered.

His attention to her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It didn't surprise her that he was thorough, but it was the loving way in which he touched her that left her breathless. This was what he meant when he said they were two people who loved each other. She'd never wonder again.

His tongue circled her navel and she was rapidly coming undone. Her grip on his head allowed her to pull him up to her. It didn't take any time for him to understand what she was asking; her hands were on his hips, slowly dragging his sweats down his legs. She knew there would be nothing underneath. He stood at attention in every possible way.

She lifted herself briefly from the bed and slid the small amount of fabric that constituted sleep shorts down her own legs. They were bare for one another. There was no foreplay, no careful consideration of his body. She expressed what she needed with the subtle rock of her hips. Taking her hands in his he placed them on either side of her head. Tilting her hips once more, she was open for him and he slipped in without resistance. She moaned as her body tried to accommodate his size.

"Joan."

He rarely spoke her first name. The way he said it carried such love and adoration. It was arousing. She felt her body responding with what would be required for him to slide easily in and out of her. He felt it, too. His hips rocked forward. Sherlock grunted not out of exertion but out of need. He had never needed another human being the way he needed her. In all of sexual encounters he had never needed a woman the way he needed Joan.

They developed a rhythm that was very similar to their working relationship. He took control, pushing as she pulled. Their hips danced, flitting from one movement to the next. He kissed her with vigor and she introduced to the moment the same sensual, soft emotions she had brought into his life.

Thrusts became wild. Cries no longer concealed. She felt the coiling in her core and knew she was close. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, breathing hard and taking swipes with his tongue of the sensitive, erogenous skin there.

"Sherlock…" she whimpered.

The beautiful way she said his name and the pulsation of her inner muscles pushed him to his release. As he emptied inside of her, she tumbled into the abyss. The gentle spasms delighted him. She came down slowly, her head tilted back and eyes closed. He watched her with fascination. He'd often wondered what she would look like at this very moment. She surpassed his fantasies.

"God," she murmured.

He slowly pulled out of her and they both exhaled noticeably. He collapsed next to her, his arm draped over her midsection.

"Will you go to London with me now?" he panted, lighthearted in a way he never was.

She laughed. This was the laugh he had come to love. He hadn't heard it recently. Maybe things would be okay after all.

"Partners," she stated unequivocally.

"Partners," he repeated.

_-finis-_


End file.
